


Closer

by Shiropropaganda



Series: Fix You Up [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Amputee Shiro?, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Shiro, Consensual Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Post S06, Rimming, Season 6 Spoilers, heavy affection, touch starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 07:38:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14996018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shiropropaganda/pseuds/Shiropropaganda
Summary: Shiro finds himself touch starved after regaining his body. Keith is there to help him through it.





	Closer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kittymills](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittymills/gifts).



It's simple, when it starts.

Shiro had an aside with Ryner the moment they'd touched down on Olkarian. The leader had touched his shoulder gently, and met his nervous gaze with a calm smile.

“I believe this is something that is universal across all cultures,” she said softly, passing him a hefty bundle outside his door later that evening, “If there is anything else we can do to help you heal, don't hesitate.”

Her eyes don't linger on his missing arm, and he's grateful.

 

Shiro hasn't slept.

The lions don't exactly have luxurious quarters for _one_ person, let alone for three. Add in an overgrown puppy who can phase through space time and leap at you with no warning… it’s very cramped.

Deep down, Shiro knows that if it were just he and Keith, the space would feel much less small. They've spent more than one occasion sharing space, camping in the desert or crushed together on the couch in Keith's parents' old shack.

Keith's deep snuffle is comforting in the dark, his arms wrapped tight around his pup, and Black murmurs comfort in the back of his consciousness, but Krolia makes Shiro nervous. It's absurd, since she's been nothing but kind, warm even, if Shiro compares it to how Keith acted when they first met-- but Shiro sees her eyes catch the light in the darkness when Keith shifts in his sleep. Their eyes meet and then her gaze flits away.

 

He excuses himself from the sleeping quarters after the first night, and tries to find sleep in the pilot chair. Keith joins him sometimes, sits on the floor and leans his head against Shiro’s knee until his voice is thick with sleep.

The press against his leg makes Shiro’s skin tingle and his fingers itch to twine in dark hair, but nine times out of ten, Keith’s wolf-dog is beside him, head perched on the arm of his chair, so Shiro pets it instead. He lets his eyes close and his breath even, but it’s a show and he’s wide awake again once Keith has shuffled down to the quarters below, his pet popping along beside him.

Above all else, Shiro finds himself aching quietly in the darkness. His body feels off balance. Too light without the solid weight of his prosthetic. He swears he can feel it, sometimes. The hum of energy, but there is emptiness where his fingertips should be and it makes him uneasy.

He's so vulnerable.

 

In his quarters in Olkarian, Shiro unfurls the bundle. The material is thick, but still cool enough to not make the Olkari summer unbearable. The weight feels good in his hand, and he hopes it will do the trick.

  
_Real cool Takashi_ , he thinks to himself, crawling into bed and pulling the cloth over his body, shifting so the brunt of the weight is across his right shoulder, solid where his arm should be, _brought back to life light-years from home and you still miss your blanket._

It works.  
Sort of.  
But not enough.  
He sleeps, but it's fleeting. Filled with dreams of yellowed eyes and a fanged snarl and falling.

 _Falling._  

He wakes after only a few hours.

  
Shiro walks around the city in the early morning hours. The Olkari work in shifts, and the night-workers grow used to seeing him out as they return home--the sun peeking just over the horizon. They greet him with smiles and he returns them with a nod of his own. He feels eyes on him as he walks, but he recognizes their intention. He doesn't engage, just walks on. After the first night, he opened his door to be greeted by Keith’s cosmic wolf-- he _still_ isn’t quite sure of its name—Keith had said it in a mumbled rush and Shiro was too exhausted to try and figure it out-- and it stays beside him the entire way.

Soon the walks become familiar. He and the pup leave Ryner’s base an hour before sunrise, and return about and hour after. The wolf-dog-puppy prances ahead of him to smell everything and then bounds back to his side for a scratch on the head. Shiro spots the shadow out of the corner of his eye more than once, but Shiro knows that energy well enough to relax. Keith never approaches him, just watches.

 

One morning Shiro leans against a railing, looking over the city as the day breaks.

“You could join me,” he says quietly.

  
There are footsteps,he can feel the heat of a body coming close, and then nothing. When Shiro turns, no one is there but the dog who meets his eyes with a tilted head, tongue lolling out of his mouth and giving a playful yip.

 

Shiro’s body rejects the first prosthetic Ryner tries.  
And the second.

Pidge and Matt work with her technicians tirelessly to come up with a work around.

His body rejects that one too, but he knows the Holts won’t stop until they’ve fixed the problem.

  
During the second week in Olkarian, Shiro rolls out of bed and gets ready for his walk. He opens the door and walks straight into Keith's outstretched palm.

Their eyes meet, and Shiro sighs, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly.

“You're not sleeping.”

Keith has always been direct, sometimes bruisingly so, but it's one of the things that Shiro has come to appreciate most about him. He doesn't mince words. He doesn't lay traps or play games with his feelings.

The palm on his chest pushes, firm but gentle, and Shiro follows their direction, kicking his shoes off by the door, and then Keith's join them. He isn't wearing a uniform now. He's in his pajamas, soft and worn in.

Keith's fingers drift from Shiro's chest, and he kicks himself for missing their warmth. He hasn't been touched in... so long and the skin of his chest thums with… well, with _something_.

The younger man is standing beside Shiro's bed, holding Ryner's blanket. His eyebrows raise as he tests the weight of it, lips pressed in a thin line.

“I thought it would... help,” Shiro admits, motioning to his missing appendage.

Keith nods, loud in his silence. His concern is rolling off him in waves, and suddenly Shiro feels regret. He was supposed to always look after Keith, he was the one who wanted to be a barrier for all that he loved, but now in the dim light of an alien bedroom, Keith's brain is going into overdrive trying to help him again.

“Tell me what to do,” his voice is low, startling Shiro out of his spiral.

“I--” his throat goes dry.

“Is it the weight?” Keith isn't looking at him, fingers still clutching the compression blanket.

“And the warmth,” Shiro admits, why is his heart pounding so fast? “I've... I've been missing warmth.”

Keith nods, dropping the blanket. His hand finds Shiro's wrist and tugs. Shiro lets him push him back into bed, gentle as he motions for Shiro to turn onto his stomach.

The bed dips with the weight of Keith's knees as he climbs up, and then there is solid pressure and heat against Shiro's back. Keith's hair tickles the back of his neck, but the feeling of being pressed down into the mattress envelops him so quickly he doesn't realize he's fallen asleep until the morning bells of the city chime.

Keith is still there, deadweight against Shiro's back, breaths deep and even. He grasps the edge of the bed and attempts to pull himself out from underneath the younger man’s body, but Keith’s hand shoots out, fingers gripping Shiro’s wrist.

“No meetings today.” his voice is deep with sleep, and right beside his ear, and Shiro feels a pleasant zip down his spine.

He moves a bit, shifting so he can look at Keith in the soft light. His eyes are hooded but open, blinking at him slowly.

“You said I was your brother,” Shiro blurts out, his sleep-rough voice loud in the stillness of the morning.

Keith’s mouth twists for a moment and it’s almost adorable.

“You’re my family,” he says, breath huffing out and pink ringing his cheek bones, “it might not have been the best way I could say it but—”

“You said you love me.”

“I did,” he looks at Shiro for a moment, stubborn in the set of his jaw as if he’s daring the older man to deny his feelings,  “I do.”

Shiro smiles, fingers brushing along the sharp angle of Keith’s jaw.

“I do too,” he murmurs, breath catching as Keith presses his face into his hand.

They lay like that for a long time, just looking and breathing and Shiro feels something shift between them that he has no name for.

Eventually Keith squirms, adjusting his weight and pushing Shiro to his side before spooning up behind him, arm snug around Shiro’s midsection. His body burns-- even through their layers of clothes, and the moment Keith’s familiar whisper of a snore starts up again, Shiro is far gone from warmth and something that feels familiar, a twist deep in his gut he hasn’t felt in a long time, but he’s too tired to place. Not right now.

They sleep.

 

The thing about having your soul trapped in an astral plane for two years with zero hope of reconnecting with your physical form is, you come to terms with a lot of things you’ll never experience again.

Shiro had accepted he would never get to taste mac n cheese, or feel the wind whip through his hair, or the clasp of a strong hand in his own, pressed tight against his heart as they embrace.  

He didn’t realize how badly he missed touch until now.

He’s sneaky about it, but he initiates contact far more often than he ever has before. Hands on shoulders, standing arm to arm beside Hunk while he cooks, letting Lance try to best him arm wrestling. He finds little windows of opportunity and gets a quiet thrill when his companions allow his affection.

Pidge is twittering away about specs on a new communication device she’d worked on with Ryner’s top technicians--hoping to embed it into Shiro’s new arm design, and Shiro has no idea what she’s talking about, but he pulls her into a hug against his side anyway. Pidge looks up at him, shocked, but then claps him on the back a moment later.

“I like huggy Shiro,” she says with a grin, “it’s nice.”

So much for being sly.

 

It’s easiest with Keith.

Which shouldn’t be a surprise, because everything is almost always easiest with Keith, but Shiro delights in their closeness.  

His hand on Keith’s shoulder has evolved to a hand on his back, on the nape of his neck, on his wrist. Keith never pulls away, and sometimes links his fingers with Shiro’s under the table in the meeting hall. His palm is warm and callused from wielding his blade, and the contact makes Shiro’s head spin. Keith’s thumb rubbing slowly against his own kicks him in the gut, but he’s busy. _They’re_ busy trying to figure out a reasonable way to replace Shiro’s prosthetic before the trip back to Earth.

 

They’re currently on protype number ten, and it shorts out before it’s even fully connected.

 

Keith doesn’t even attempt to put on airs that he is sleeping in his own room, just brings his bundle of clothes and his knife to Shiro’s room and fits himself so seamlessly into his space that Shiro has a hard time remembering why he hadn’t gone to Keith in the first place.

He doesn’t sleep perfectly every night, but he’s been getting better and waking up far less with a human furnace draped across him-- sometimes two, if the wolf pup pops in.

 

Shiro wakes to Keith’s low groan against the nape of his neck, and the younger man’s hardness pressed against him. The other man is still asleep, dead to the world, but Shiro feels his entire body flush. That unnamed feeling in his gut rages and _oh--_

It’s _desire_.

Shiro’s natural instinct is to push back, to drag the swell of his ass against Keith. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm his own arousal that’s now made itself known-- pressed against the front of his pants, and climbs out of bed.

By the time he’s dressed and ready for his predawn walk, Keith is curled in the space Shiro left behind. He tries not to let his eyes linger on the cut of his hipbone where his sleep shirt has rucked up.

 

The dog lets him get a few blocks out of the facility before popping up beside him, leaning his weight against Shiro’s leg as they walk. He nearly trips over it more than once, but he likes the company enough to laugh it off and welcome the affection.

He stops at the morning market and buys the pup a treat, watching the Olkari woman fillet and debone it. Her work is smooth, and her blade is so sharp he mistakes it for steel at first, but when he asks and she shows it to him, it’s made from the same wood Ryner’s team used in the forest.

She points him to a small shop down the alley, and Shiro doesn’t think twice before stopping in and buying one for Keith.

He feels familiar eyes on him as he exits the shop and turns to look directly at the shadow.

“I didn’t expect you to be up so soon,” he says with a grin.

The shadow twitches, and then the lean figure steps into the light.

It isn’t Keith.

“You spoil him,” Krolia says pointedly, arms crossed while looking at the cloth bag in Shiro’s hand.

He knows she’s not talking about the dog.

Shiro grins, his neck flushing red. He moves to rub the nape of his neck, but his right arm doesn’t reach and he feels doubly embarrassed for forgetting. He shrugs instead, gripping the bag tightly.

“Someone should,” he says after a moment.

Krolia nods and lets her arms fall to her side.

She walks with him, the pup flashing around, happy to feel the sun and then vanishing.

“He spoke of you often,” she says when they reach an observation deck, the city sprawls for miles, “I may know more about you than I know about him.”

She turns to Shiro with a wry smile and it startles him how alike they look.

“He’s always been pretty guarded,” Shiro admits, stepping up to the railing.

They stand in silence for a moment, until the pup appears and whines low in its throat, head butting against Shiro’s leg and tail swishing impatiently.

“Keith’s awake,” Shiro says laughing at the dog’s demand that they return to base.

“Shiro,” Krolia’s voice is soft, as are her eyes as she turns to face him, “I thank the universe for returning Keith to me. I am lucky to have my son.”

She pauses and the puts a careful hand on his arm where flesh meets what’s left of the metal socket from his prosthetic.

“I think, I would also be lucky to call you my son, if that is where your hearts are leading.”

She scratches the wolf’s head and starts toward the base, leaving Shiro with her words.

 

“No,” Shiro says firmly, “No, no, no, no, no.”

“Come on Shiro,” Matt says, dark circles under his eyes, “it’s our best option.”

“You know what? I’m good, thanks for all your hard work, but I like having just the one arm, let’s go to Earth now and get it done there.”

“Earth tech is nowhere near sophisticated enough to give you full range of motion or sensation,” Pidge argues, arms crossed and looming over where Shiro is seated, socket plugged into her computer.

“We already called him, Shiro.”

He’s never wished to be back in the Black Lion more than he is right now.

 Fortunately for Shiro, Slav only says one thing to him when he arrives, dropping his bags and rearing up to his full height as he leans in Shiro’s space and narrows his eyes appraisingly.

“You need more rest, get out of my sight.”

All the hands on his left side point to the door where Keith is leaning. He straightens, moving to follow Shiro, but Slav calls out,

“Not you, red paladin, I have questions for you.”

Shiro shrugs before he bolts, feeling only slightly guilty that Keith has gotten conscripted into his tech team. Or that he’s left him at Slav’s mercy… One thing Shiro knows for sure is, this is definitely one of the realities where he’ll sacrifice Keith to avoid the inventor.

 

Shiro is dozing when Keith comes back to the room.

Half awake, he holds out his arm, fingers itching to touch. The bed sinks and shifts, but then Keith sinks into him, warm and close. He’s forgone his sleep shirt and his skin burns under Shiro’s palm.

“You’re very touchy lately,” Keith’s voice is quiet, like it’s a secret.

“I…” Shiro is wide awake now, pulling his hand away, but the younger man makes a soft sound and presses his face into his neck.

“You don’t have to stop.”

Shiro’s fingers flex for a moment and then settle against burning skin.

“I’ve been really… out of it lately,” he says, pausing to find an excuse, Krolia’s words echo in his head-- _if that is where your hearts are leading--_ and he sighs.

“Being in Black for so long… I never thought I’d be able to feel anything again, and now that I can I just. Want contact all the time. It’s like an itch in my bones, and it only goes away if I’m touching or being touched. It’s usually pretty annoying, but you… you help the most.”

He forces a laugh in the darkness.

“It’s sounds so stupid, sorry, I’m sure I’ll be back to normal soon.”

Keith is silent for a long time, and then Shiro feels fingers slip under the hem of his t-shirt.

“Keith,” his voice is rough as a palm meets the muscles of his stomach, “you don’t have to do this.”

“I want to,” it comes out as a breath against his neck and then Keith is shifting, pushing up his shirt.

It’s a struggle to sit up, his missing arm trying to assist but still off balance. Keith lets out a laugh as he finally slips off the shirt and it cuts through his awkwardness. The younger man presses against him, skin to skin, and Shiro’s hand grips the sheets to ground himself.

It isn’t sexual.

Not really.

It feels like coming home.

There is a thrum of desire under Shiro’s skin, but Keith’s touch is exploratory, comforting. His hands touch and hold, leaving burning trails across Shiro’s chest. Being skin to skin makes Shiro’s head spin, and chest ache and he barely registers the soft kiss to his neck before he descends into sleep.

 

For once, Keith is awake before him. Shiro meets his gaze first thing. Keith has always been dangerously beautiful, but in this moment he looks so soft and fond that Shiro’s breath catches in his chest.

They’re side by side, legs tangled together with the sheets kicked off the bed.  He reaches absentmindedly to brush the dark hair from his eyes, but it’s his right arm. Keith doesn’t laugh at him, but moves his head, brushing his nose against the metal of the empty socket.

Shiro wants to kiss him.

“You can if you want to,” Keith has a smirk on his face and _shit Takashi you said that out loud._

He doesn’t give Shiro time to feel embarrassed as he ducks his head in, pressing his lips against Shiro’s own. Shiro shifts onto his back, freeing his left arm and burying his fingers into the hair at the back of Keith’s neck.

Somewhere between deepening their kiss and Keith distracting Shiro with soft bites to his jaw, they lose the rest of their clothes and the first press of Keith against himself is devastating. His past self would be so ashamed by how affected he is by a little bit of friction, but he’s leaking precome already and groaning into Keith’s mouth. Keith reaches between them and takes them both in one hand and after just a few slow strokes Shiro comes with a sharp breath throwing his arm over his eyes.

His heart is pounding in his ears and he can feel the embarrassment radiating off his face, but Keith says nothing, shifting away and then returning with a soft, damp towel to clean off Shiro’s stomach.  He pulls the arm from Shiro’s face and leans down.

“Stop it,” he murmurs against his lips before covering them with his own, licking slowly into his mouth.

Shiro can’t argue with that.

Keith settles in behind him, body curving around his own. This time, Shiro goes with his gut and shifts back a little, letting the curve of his ass press against Keith’s hardness.

Keith’s breath stops for a moment, and then Shiro feels a wet kiss to the back of his neck,  and Keith’s hand moving to rest on his hip. He moves again, a slow drag, and Keith’s fingers tighten as his hips push forward to get more friction.

“Is this okay?” Shiro’s voice is wrecked, but it’s nothing compared the hoarse _Yeah_ Keith murmurs into his shoulder, punctuated by a small bite and a rock of his hips. It feels good, it feels _so_ good, but it’s not enough and Shiro is turning onto his stomach, looking back at Keith until the younger man gets the message.

Keith’s mouth is hot on his spine, tongue tracing a trail down. Shiro eggs him on with a quiet mantra of _yes, yes_ until that wet heat presses against him and he chokes off a groan. Keith keeps him open with his hands as he drags his tongue over him, rubbing with one finger lightly enough to be comfortable but hard enough to make Shiro pant into the pillow.

He’s not sure where the salve came from, but he’s grateful when he feels Keith’s slicked finger at his entrance. The younger man pauses for a moment, lips pressing into the small of his back.

“Yes,” Shiro breathes, pushing his hips back encouragingly, whispering praise and suggestions and keening inside when Keith follows each one.

Keith helps him turn over after a few minutes, taking him in his mouth as he works his fingers inside, and for a moment Shiro thinks he’s died a second time. He opens his eyes, fully expecting to be back in the astral plane with Black, but he’s pleased to see Keith leaning over him, eyes blown black looking down at him as he presses against Shiro.

It’s slow.

Slower for them than Shiro would have ever expected-- his fever dreams had always imagined it being hard, fast, and buried in secret, but Keith surprises him. Shiro isn’t exactly flexible enough for them to kiss comfortably, but Keith moves inside of him with precision, his mouth on any part of Shiro he can reach, and his hand stroking him just-this-side of too loose.

The come apart separately, but curl together after, skin to skin, too exhausted to worry about immediate clean up.

 

“What did Slav ask you?” Shiro asks later, once they’re showered and snuggled deep under the weight of Shiro’s blanket.

“He wanted a retelling of our fight,” Keith says, “and… he asked if I told you I loved you.

“He said was important that he knows because in all of realities where your soul is trapped in the black lion and restored into the body of a clone, I only say that 1% of the time. And that knowing if I said it was significant in the outcome of this reality.”

Shiro blinks down at Keith curiously.

“He said it’s one of those realities where everything works out fine.”

He smirks.

“He also asked if I was sure you didn’t want two prosthetic arms.”

Shiro groans.

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be just porn.  
> Fml.
> 
> I love Slav more than life, fight me about it.
> 
> Title is from  this song  by Tegan and Sara
> 
> Shout at me on tumblr! @shiroganepropaganda


End file.
